


Throw out the lifeline (someone is drifting away)

by Savana_Marlark



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Illness, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Swearing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23484727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savana_Marlark/pseuds/Savana_Marlark
Summary: Everything had been going so well. He'd made it to the end of the school year despite collapsed buildings, several broken ribs and Flash Thompson.Now he had a blissful ten weeks in front of him. No noisy bells, no lectures on topics he already knew in detail, no more Penis Parker. As much time in Stark Tower with his hero, mentor and father-figure as he could get, and all the time he wanted as Spiderman without having to worry about school work.It was going to be a great summer.Then he got the call from the hospital.------Or: When May is taken ill, Tony suddenly finds himself taking care of a superpowered teenager.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 221





	1. The Calm Before the Storm

The final bell rang, the sound sharp and commanding. Peter supressed a wince as the sound beat against his sensitive eardrums. It may have been over a year since his senses had been dialled up to eleven, but that didn’t mean he’d become accustomed to the bells. They were loud enough without super hearing. But now he had a blissful ten weeks to look forward to. No noisy bells, no lectures on topics he already knew in detail, no….

“If it isn’t Penis Parker.”

No Flash.

“What do you want Flash?”

While his attention had been focused on getting rid of the last bits of ringing in his ears and the glorious prospect of the summer vacation, he’d been distracted enough to have failed to notice that Flash and his friends had gathered around his locker in a loose semicircle.

The bully’s eyes swept over him, the corner of his lips twitching in a sneer as he took in the old sneakers and the worn jacket. Peter forcibly unclenched his fists – he couldn’t push through, couldn’t give into the temptation to scale the wall and get out of here – at school he was just Penis Parker – he’d endured this before the bite and so he endured it now.

“You looking forward to the break? We’re taking Dad’s yacht – cruising round the Caribbean.”

“Good for you.” Peter’s response was robotic.

“I’d let you join us – we need a new janitor.”

“I’ve got other plans.”

“That fake Stark Internship?” Raucous laughter met that statement, “Yeah right, Stark’s got class, he wouldn’t waste his time on a loser like you. He only takes people who don’t get their sneakers from a dumpster.”

Peter felt a tinge of red creep up his cheeks, “Shove off Flash.” Money had been tight since Ben had died and May did the best she could on her salary. So what if his sneakers were third hand, and you couldn’t quite tell what their original colour was, they fit.

“Better get a job Penis – maybe then you won’t be mistaken for a hobo.”

Flash gave his backpack a quick kick and the jeers intensified as the flap fell open, clearly showing the patched seam.

Peter knew his cheeks were burning now.

“Someone’s gotta be desperate enough, what’d your price be? $10 a night?”

“Hey Peter!” Ned’s voice broke across the snickering, and Flash half turned, his grin widening,

“Look who’s come to join us, getting new baby toys this summer?”

“Legos aren’t babyish…” Ned’s voice rose in defence, but Peter, spotting a gap in the circle that surrounded him, grabbed his bag and hurried forward, giving Ned a light shove to get him moving. Quickly they made their way to the school doors, losing themselves in the sea of students that were surged towards freedom. Evidently Flash and his gang had decided they had better things to do than pursue them, because they made it out of the parking lot without any trouble.

They made it half a block before Ned regained enough of his senses for the excitement of the coming summer to overwhelm the last lingering traces of school.

“You’re spending time at the Tower right?” Awe was very poorly disguised in Ned’s voice.

“Some of the summer I think? Mr Stark’s still expecting me on Fridays and he said I might get to spend a bit more time there, when May has long shifts and there’s stuff to work on. Not much different to last break.”

“Not much different….dude!” Ned spluttered, “You can’t just talk calmly about getting to spend time with Tony _freaking_ Stark! I don’t care you’ve spent like days in his presence it will never not be cool.”

To be fair there wasn’t much Peter could say in reply to that. He agreed with Ned – if he took time to think about it, it still took him by surprise that Tony was willing to have him in the lab, let alone that he was expected every Friday. And not just because of Spiderman, but because of Peter Parker too. Things had shifted slowly, and Peter couldn’t pinpoint the moment Friday evenings had switched from Spiderman time to Peter time. Without really realising it one of the workbenches in the lab had become his, quickly filling up with various projects, all in different stages of completion. But best of all was the fact that the hours he spent there had gradually increased until not only did he normally have dinner there, but if he was lucky, and Tony felt like it, they sometimes ended an evening by watching a movie in the penthouse before Peter headed off on patrol.

Casting around for a change in subject he turned the conversation back on Ned, “Weren’t you supposed to get home early, to finish packing or something?”

Ned risked a quick glance at his phone and promptly paled, “Crap. I’d better go. We’re flying out in five hours and I haven’t even started.” His gaze swung sharply to Peter, “You had better text me everything. I don’t care I’m not back in the states for a month. I need to know everything as soon as it happens. I’m your guy in the chair.”

“I will Ned, promise, go before you make Mrs Leeds mad. Enjoy Europe.”

Ned surveyed him with a faint air of suspicion before beginning their handshake.

Rituals completed, Peter headed for the subway, he had just enough time to get home, dump his things and have a quick shower before Happy came to take him to the Tower.

* * *

May was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a quick meal in preparation for her night shift, as he hurried out of the shower. Happy was due to arrive in five minutes and Peter knew from experience that he did not enjoy having to drive him around. Happy was always grumpy and Peter had no intention of making him grumpier at the start of the summer break.

“In a rush baby?” He heard May tease gently behind him.

Peter nodded, eyes scanning the room for his notebook as he frantically rubbed his hair with a towel. He heard his Aunt laugh before a chair scrapped against the floor as she stood. “Your notebook’s here Peter, slow down silly billy, there’s no need to hurry.” Fondness and laughter overlapped in her voice, and Peter smiled sheepishly as he turned around and took the notebook that she held out.

“Thanks May.” He frowned as she hissed slightly. “Is your hand still bothering you?”

“It’s fine baby,” she waved his concerns away, “It’s just stinging a bit. That’s only to be expected, it was a rather nasty cut.”

Peter winced then, remembering. May had been trying a new recipe for dinner a few days ago, one that called for finely diced onion. Cooking not being her greatest skill, a slip of the knife had resulted in a rather nasty cut on her thumb, however a raid on the first aid kit later and she had pronounced herself satisfied.

“Remember Peter. No patrolling after midnight, I’ll know if you’re out later than that.” Peter nodded, one of the downsides of Tony and Aunt May getting along was that Karen was configured to send a text to May whenever he was out in his suit after his curfew. “Now go on, enjoy the first evening of your vacation, you’ve earned in. I larb you.”

“Larb you too.”

With that Peter bounded down the stairs, ruthlessly showing aside the tiny voice in the back of his head that whispered that this would be the week that Happy wouldn’t be here, that Mr Stark would get fed up of having Peter Parker underfoot.

* * *

“Good afternoon Mr Parker. Boss is expecting you in his lab. Would you like me to take you there?” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice queried as he stepped into the elevator and Peter felt his nerves vanish as he felt the elevator start to move.

It was much easier to silence all the nagging insecurities in his mind when he was in the Tower. If he was here and Mr Stark was expecting him, he knew he was welcome, he had another week where he could enjoy spending time with his hero, mentor and… He firmly squashed that train of thought. He was welcome in the lab. He was welcome in the Tower. He had a far closer relationship with Mr Stark than he ever had a right to expect. Lab evenings were wonderful, and now he had a whole summer ahead and he had the possibility of lab days. He would be able to tinker to his heart’s content, and best of all he would get to spend more time with Tony.

“Hey Mr Stark!”

“Hey there kid,” Tony looked up from the specifications he was fiddling with as Peter came bouncing into his lab, “School finally release you?”

Peter threw his arms out dramatically, a wide grin on his face, “Sweet, sweet freedom. No more boring lectures, no more….”

He was only half way through his list when a chuckle broke through his train of thought and Peter turned to look at his mentor who was surveying him with a teasing glint in his eyes. “I get it kid, you’re excited. How much sugar do they feed little spiderlings at school anyway?”

“ _Mr Stark_ ,” he would deny it as long as he lived, but the name came out in a voice that hovered perilously close to a whine, “I’m not a spiderling.”

“You didn’t deny the sugar though kid. FRI, any tips for handling a hyper spiderling?”

“Spiderman, Mr Stark,” Peter said, piling as much exasperation into his tone as he could manage. “And at least I’m not sleep deprived and running off caffeine.”

The exasperation couldn’t last very long though as Tony pulled himself up to his full height, and turned towards him, waving a screwdriver for emphasis.

“Don’t knock the coffee kid, caffeine is the chemical of the gods.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. chose the moment to enter the debate, “Sugar has in fact been shown not to have an effect on children’s behaviour whereas copious caffeine consumption in adults has been known to lead to irritability, sleeplessness, muscle spasms and heart palpations.”

“Enough out of you FRI. Betrayed by my own creation.”

Peter couldn’t help it, the put-upon woe in Tony’s voice combined with the mock scowl he directed at the lab cameras sent him off into fits of giggles. Tony shot him a look over the workbench, “Et tu Brute? Just for that I’m ordering pizza without pineapple tonight.”

Peter mock gasped, hand coming up to rest over his heart, “But pizza without pineapple is a travesty.” He tried for a scandalised tone but it was rather undercut by the grin on his face and the giggles that kept slipping through.

This was something he loved about being in the lab. The easy banter with Mr Stark, the jokes and teasing that never took on a cruel edge. It was wonderful compared to the nasty barbs he was faced with at school, and it was something he’d never had with May. He loved her to pieces, but they didn’t tease like this, and Ben had only rarely engaged in this type of word play, so he’d never had an outlet for his snark.

He’d been too nervous to respond much the first time Tony had invited him up here, and been too in awe of all the equipment, most of which he was sure cost more than his apartment. But as the number of visits had steadily increased and he’d learnt that Tony wouldn’t kick him out he’d become brave enough to join in the banter.

In fact, working alongside Tony was the highlight of his Friday evenings. His mentor’s steady presence, the banter, the interest in whatever project he was working on, the support and encouragement from someone who understood what he was doing. As wonderful as it was to work on his projects, with everything he could ever need, that paled when compared to the joy he got simply by working with Tony. In fact, he didn’t think it would matter what he did when he came to the Tower as long as he got to do it with his mentor.

“Earth to the spiderling.” Peter jolted out of his thoughts at the sound of Tony snapping his fingers, “Lost in your own head for a minute there kid? Where’d you journey off to?”

Peter felt a blush begin to rise, and his mentor chuckled again, a deep, warm sound without a trace of unkindness and he felt his own lips quirk upwards in response. He answered the question honestly, without stopping to think it through. “Yeah, just thinking about how much I enjoy coming here.”

Tony’s chuckles died away and a slightly strange look came into his eyes. It was a look Peter had seen several times over the last few weeks, not very often, and only for an instant at a time. He couldn’t quite place it but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling whenever he saw it.

In the next second the moment was broken as Tony gestured expansively to the equipment surrounding them, “It’s my lab. Every piece of equipment made and designed by yours truly, the best of its kind, of course you enjoy it. Nerds like you dream of this place.”

“Well yes,” Peter had to admit, “That bit’s cool, but it wouldn’t be even half as good if it wasn’t for _you_ Mr Stark, working with you is the best part of being in the lab.” His words tripped over themselves in his haste to get them out, “I wouldn’t care about being in the lab if I got to spend the time with you instead. I mean, you talk to me about my ideas, and joke around but you aren’t mean and -”

He suddenly realised what he was saying and promptly clapped his hands over his mouth, feeling his ears burn in embarrassment. He saw Mr Stark’s eyes soften, and that strange look crept over his features again, only to be wiped away half a second later.

“I get it kid, I know I’m awesome. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, Iron Man, all that jazz.” The words were light hearted, but Peter couldn’t help but notice that his mentor’s eyes were still soft as Tony looked at him, and that there was something almost forced about the words.

“Now what’s this you’re working on?”

Gratefully Peter seized on the distraction. He’d not meant to blurt any of that out, and he blamed his treacherous mouth for saying it without his consent. He also ruthlessly shoved down the tentative, wistful whisper that seemed to have crept up from his heart. That strange look he’d glimpsed briefly on Mr Stark’s face couldn’t possible be fondness.

No, he thought as started to explain the details of his project to Mr Stark, it would be stupid to think that Tony Stark would ever be fond of Peter Parker, a nobody from Queens. It was wonderful enough that he was here, and was getting to come here during his break, instead of being lonely every day in the apartment. For once, his Parker Luck had given him something good. He wasn’t going to mess anything up by wanting far more than he could possibly deserve. He knew how to count his blessings, and he didn’t even have to think very hard to know one thing:

It was going to be a great summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. I've been lurking around in this fandom for several months, and I thought I'd finally try writing some of my own. I've not written any fanfic for the last three years, so hopefully my writing isn't too rusty. I'm not American, and I've tried to ensure I've used American terms for stuff, not British ones, but I'm sure there are places where I've got it wrong. Please let me know if you spot any.
> 
> I hope this story can cheer you up - I've really enjoyed reading some of the lovely works on here, and I hope you have enjoyed my small contribution to this fandom.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	2. Storm Clouds Rising

Tony supressed a grin as the teen beside him stretched lazily, the empty pizza boxes before him mute evidence of the spiderling’s metabolism.

“I thought I told you to leave room for ice cream kid?”

Peter’s eyes shot over to meet his.

“I did Mr Stark, I mean, if you don’t want any that’s fine, we don’t have to have any, you’ve already gotten me pizza-“

Tony chuckled at the flood of words, the kid’s tendency to ramble was one of his more endearing traits, and Tony made a point of trying to elicit at least one ramble per visit. The honest jumble of thoughts and emotions made a welcome change to the velvet covered barbs and twisted truths he dealt with from the idiots on the Accords council and in the media.

At the sound of his mentor’s laughter Peter’s mouth snapped shut.

“Relax Pete. I’m just teasing you. No meal is complete without ice cream.”

Only his years of practice at maintaining his expression in front of the paparazzi allowed him to prevent his lips quirking upwards in a smile as he saw the boy’s expression perk up.

“Stark Raving Hazelnuts?”

“Of course, it’s clearly the superior flavour.”

“All who dare claim otherwise are heathens.” The kid agreed, nodding along solemnly.

“And don’t you forget it.”

Empty ice cream cartoons soon joined the debris on the table, and Tony stood, resolutely ignoring the slight crack in his back. He wasn’t getting old, dammit.

“Movie preferences kid? Anything but Star Wars can be considered.”

He had seen the hopeful looks Peter had been sneaking in his direction, when the teen thought he wasn’t looking. Despite what the media wanted to believe, Tony Stark was very observant, not that he needed to be to spot that his kid was desperately hoping to stay for a few more hours.

Peter wore his heart on his sleeve and was so bad at lying Tony considered it a minor miracle that so few people had managed to learn about the kid’s alter ego. It was almost painfully obvious that the boy didn’t want to go home yet, not that Tony could blame him, the kid’s Aunt worked night shifts, and he knew the feeling of going home, only to find it empty and cold.

As he had expected Peter almost started bouncing, a grin stretching across his face.

“Well what about…”

Tony listened to the suggestions with half an ear, only interjecting occasionally to shoot down the more outlandish ideas, as they headed up to the living room. Most of his attention was focussed on the happiness of the chattering teen beside him.

Even after knowing Peter for several months, it still took him by surprise how much pleasure the kid took in his company. Sure, he knew it had been hero worship at first, but over the last few months it had become apparent that for some reason Peter actually enjoyed spending time with _him,_ Tony Stark, without an ulterior motive, or any eye for what he could gain. He could count on his hands the number of people who’d ever approached him with even a fraction of the honest affection that Peter did and he could count on one the number who were still alive.

So if he took the opportunities he had to bring that excited, bright grin to the kid’s face, well who could blame him?

It was just good mentoring. Making sure that the kid was happy, as well as safe. He knew how much the teen enjoyed watching movies with him. And it was the first day of the summer break, surely Peter deserved a reward for getting through another year of the hell that was high school?

He resolutely didn’t think about how the kid’s happiness warmed something inside him. Soothed some of the sting left from _betrayal, betrayal, betrayal ….. ‘how ironic Tony’ ….’Stark is a sickness’…… ‘But he’s my friend’._

He didn’t think about the fact that Peter’s presence was enough to lift his mood, and that the Friday visits gave him something to look forward to during every fraught meeting with Thaddeus Ross. He didn’t think about the long list of projects he’d been storing up so he’d have an excuse to invite Peter over to Stark Tower more regularly now the teen was on vacation.

And he’d become an expert at ignoring the fact that at some point during the last year his heart had bypassed his brain and decided that Peter was his kid.

It was just a movie. Hell, it was a movie he’d suggested they watch, because the kid would never ask to spend more time here, even when it was painfully obvious that was what Peter wanted. He firmly suppressed the voice in the back of his head that pointed out that he’d move the world if the (his) kid wanted it. But on the topic of movies -

“Disney, kid really?”

“They’re _classics_. Only philistines don’t like Disney.” Too wide brown eyes gazed up at him, mischief hidden behind feigned innocence.

“You aren’t a philistine are you Mr Stark?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, pasting on the most severe expression he could manage,

“Careful with the accusations there Underoos, I recall the monstrosity a certain spiderling thought was sufficient for crime fighting activities.”

The boy’s face slipped dangerously close to a pout, and Tony had to resist the temptation to reach out and ruffle the kid’s hair.

“It wasn’t _that_ bad. I didn’t exactly have much to work with.”

“If I could make an arc reactor out of scraps, you could have made something better than a onesie.”

“But that’s not a fair comparison! You’re Tony Stark, you created Iron Man! I’m just plain Peter Parker.” The boy’s arms flailed as he gesticulated wildly, trying to get his point across, “If I was even, like, five percent as brilliant as you I’d be happy-“

This time Tony did ruffle the kid’s hair, cutting off the rant and eliciting an indignant squawk.

“Don’t sell yourself short kid, aim for twelve percent at least.”

Before the kid could come up with another retort, Tony leant back into the cushions on the couch and gestured expansively at the screen.

“Now which of these pieces of ‘classic’ filmography have you picked?”

* * *

Peter grinned as he made himself comfortable on the couch. This was proving to be an excellent start to the summer holidays. After he’d got over his initial embarrassment in the lab he’d made a lot of progress on the new formula for his web fluid.

When they’d finally stopped for dinner, alerted by the loud complaints of his stomach, Mr Stark had ordered pizza and Peter had happily eaten his fill. It wasn’t as if he got hungry exactly during the week, but since the spider bite he’d found he could eat significantly more, and whilst there was always enough food at home, he only really got to eat to satiety in the Tower.

The first time he’d eaten here, he’d been nervous enough to eat everything Tony had put in front of him, not realising that his mentor had been scrutinising him carefully. He’d been embarrassed when he’d noticed just how much he’d eaten, but Mr Stark had waved it away with a comment about being used to feeding crazy metabolisms, and since then Peter had never left the Tower feeling even remotely hungry.

But best of all, he’d gotten lucky today as evidently Mr Stark had felt like watching a movie tonight.

And now, he was comfortably ensconced on the couch next to his mentor, ready to tease and make snarky comments throughout the entirety of The Emperor’s New Groove. His mentor had given him an exasperated look when he’d chosen it, but the hair ruffle that had followed it had convinced Peter that it was mostly for show.

The film was nearing its end when Peter’s phone buzzed sharply in his pocket. He scrambled to put it on silent, thankful for the darkness which hid his blush. It wasn’t a number he recognised so he quickly declined the call, whispering a quiet apology to his mentor as the man threw a quizzical look in his direction.

He returned his attention to the screen and Peter felt his heart rate and embarrassment slowly start to return to normal before his phone started to vibrate again. Pulling it out he could see it was the same number.

“Sorry Mr Stark.” He fumbled to turn it off but Tony gestured lazily to the phone.

“Just answer it kid, they seem to be pretty persistent. FRI’s paused the movie.”

Hoping his mentor could still see the apology in his face Peter took the call.

“Am I speaking to Peter Parker?”

“Um, yes?”

“You are listed as May Parker’s emergency contact is that correct?”

Peter’s face went white, and in the periphery of his vision he was aware that the relaxed expression on his mentor’s face had vanished, to be replaced by a look of concern.

“Yes,” he choked out, “She’s, she’s my Aunt. What’s happened?”

“I’m calling from Weill Cornell Medical Center. May Parker collapsed at work this evening-“

“Is she alright?” Peter interrupted, before his eyes he could see his uncle’s body, he could feel the blood on his hands, he could hear the awful gurgling breaths, hear the single, final heartbeat, “She’s not de…” His voice broke on the last word. He couldn’t get it out past the lump in his throat, past the fear that raced through his body and stole the breath from his lungs.

“She is currently in the ICU.”

Peter slumped forward. ICU was good, well not good, but ICU meant not dead, ICU meant she was alive, and breathing. A tsunami of relief swept over him, but was almost immediately replaced by fear.

May was in hospital, May had collapsed. She was alive now, but he didn’t know what was wrong, she could be dying. She was the only family he had left; he couldn’t lose her now. His thoughts started spiralling, twisting around until he no longer knew what was real and what was not.

Suddenly he was back on that dirty sidewalk, but instead of his uncle’s cooling body he looked down and it was his Aunt’s blood on his hands.

He could smell rust, taste the tang of blood on his lips, hear the thundering of a heart beat in his ears. But there was no heart beat because Ben, May, Ben, May were dead. They were dead and he couldn’t save them.

Someone was breathing harshly, the sound ripping past his ears. But there couldn’t be breathing. Dead people don’t breathe.

“Peter, breathe.”

A voice was calling to him. But he was breathing. But he couldn’t breathe because Ben and May were dead. Dead people don’t breathe, and how could he be alive if they were dead? So how could he breathe?

“You can breathe Pete. In….out….”

A different set of sounds met his ears. The swish of a second pair of lungs, slow and steady. It didn’t belong on the blood-stained sidewalk.

“That’s it buddy. In…out...”

The voice didn’t belong. He knew it, and he knew it didn’t belong with the blood. It was safe.

“That’s right kid, you’re in the Tower, you’re safe.”

Kid. Tower. Safe.

“ _Mr_ _Stark!”_ It came out as a choked wail.

“Mr Stark’s here kid. Open your eyes Pete, you’re safe. I’m here.”

Open his eyes? They weren’t closed. They couldn’t be. He could see the blood, see the bodies.

“It’s not real kid. There’s no blood here, you’re in the Tower, you’re safe.”

He blinked and the world swam. There was someone kneeling in front of him. A face he knew.

“Mr Stark!” Peter wasn’t sure if it was a gasp or a sob. He reached out instinctively and his mentor responded immediately, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder and the other catching Peter’s hands and holding on tightly.

The touch grounded him. Tony’s hands were warm, strong and blessedly alive.

Alive.

“Aunt May?”

“She’s alive Peter,” Tony’s voice was gentle. It was a tone Peter had never heard before, “She’s alive, she’s in hospital.”

“The phone…I need to see her…ICU…” His thoughts were jumbled, tumbling over each other.

“We’re going to see her,” Tony spoke slowly and soothingly, his thumb brushing a comforting rhythm across Peter’s knuckles, “F.R.I.D.A.Y got the details. We’ll go as soon as you’ve got your breath back.”

Peter jerked his head in a nod, realising suddenly that his lungs were burning and his pulse was drumming in his ears. He focused on breathing, sucking in lungfuls of precious oxygen, and slowly his heart returned to a less frantic rhythm. Throughout it all, Tony’s grip never lessened and Peter clung to the contact, letting his mentor’s touch anchor him to the present.

As soon as he had regained enough breath to speak properly, he turned to Mr Stark, a desperate look in his eyes,

“The hospital, I’ve got to go, Aunt May-“

Tony’s voice cut the panicky ramble short.

“Course you do Pete. We’ll go right now.”

With a single fluid motion, the older man stood, holding out a hand to help the teen up. Peter took it and was instantly grateful for the support as he stumbled. Tony quickly wrapped an arm across his shoulders, tugging the teen close and supporting him as his legs threatened to give out.

At any other time Peter would have been embarrassed, but he leant gratefully into the older man’s side as Tony led him to the elevator and down to the garage. He was too scared to pay more than a cursory amount of attention to his surroundings. His thoughts kept circling back to his Aunt, scenarios flashing through his brain almost faster than he could follow.

It wasn’t until he was sitting in the car, a few roads away from the hospital, that he blinked, his brain suddenly informing him of the implications.

“S-s-sorry Mr Stark,” he stammered out, cheeks reddening, “I could have got to the hospital myself. You didn’t have to drive me.”

“You’ve been out of it for the last twenty minutes kid,” Tony said bluntly, though not unkindly, “I wasn’t about to let you go off alone. Now let’s go and find your Aunt, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Peter’s voice wavered but he didn’t make any further protests as they reached Weill Cornell Medical Center. 

He let out a scarcely audible sigh as Mr Stark’s hand came to rest once more on his shoulder, the older man a solid, stable presence behind him as they headed through the glass entrance.

The next few minutes were a blur, Peter wasn’t sure who Tony spoke to, didn’t keep a map of the twisting florescent corridors he was led down. It wasn’t until they reached the waiting space outside the lobby and a doctor briskly approached them that his focus sharpened.

She turned first to Tony,

“Mr Parker I presume?”

“No, that’s the kid here.”

She raised a single eyebrow, but nevertheless turned and spoke to Peter.

“You are May Parker’s next of kin and emergency contact?”

Peter just nodded before realising that she needed a verbal response, and quickly adding, “Yes, she’s my Aunt.”

“I see. May Parker collapsed at approximately 10:25pm. She is running a high fever, displaying low blood pressure and an elevated heart rate. There is also an infected wound on her hand. She has been admitted to the ICU with suspected sepsis and septic shock.”

“Septic shock.” Peter echoed back. He took the offered leaflet with numb hands.

“It will take approximately 2 days to confirm the diagnosis, and the bacteria responsible. In the meantime, we have started her on a course of broad-spectrum antibiotics, as well as intravenous fluids and oxygen.”

“Can I see her?” Peter blurted out.

The doctor smiled sympathetically at him, “It isn’t normal visiting hours, but I can let you see her briefly. If you’d follow me?”

Peter hurried to follow, as the doctor walked purposefully in to the ward, leading them past curtained alcoves until she finally stopped and beckoned them into one.

May was lying in the bed. The normal glow of her skin had been replaced with a sickly pale sheen, an IV was inserted into her elbow, an oxygen mask was fitted to her face and she was so, so still. If it wasn’t for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the gentle rasp of oxygen Peter would have been convinced that she was dead.

“Is she dying?” It was a hushed whisper.

“Septic shock is tricky. Her blood pressure is holding steady, and she collapsed in hospital, so at the moment we are cautiously optimistic. The earlier a patient gets treatment, the better their chances.”

But Peter could hear between the lines. It wasn’t a ‘no’. It wasn’t a ‘she’s going to recover’. Doctors only worded things like that when there was a good chance the patient could die. He didn’t want platitudes. Not when his world was crashing down around his ears.

“How many die?”

There was a pause before she answered.

“On average 30-40% of those with septic shock die. However, so far, your Aunt has a good chance of recovery.”

The sympathetic look had returned to the doctor’s face. “Now I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. Visiting hours can be found at reception, and we will call you if there is any substantial change in her condition.”

As they exited the ward, she turned to them, and for the first time Peter noticed the name tag, Dr Swift.

“Peter, I know this is a difficult time, but you are a minor. Can I confirm that you have someone to stay with?”

For a second Peter’s mouth moved helplessly. He’d not even thought about it. If it had been any other time he’d have said the Leeds, but they would be halfway across the Atlantic by now. He didn’t have any other close friends, not ones he could ask to stay with at any rate. He had a suspicion that he wouldn’t be allowed back to his apartment alone. What did they do with kids who had no one? He didn’t want to go to an orphanage.

Something of his rising anxiety must have shown, because then the hand that was still on his shoulder – the hand that the teen abruptly realised had been on his shoulder the entire time he had been in the hospital – tightened.

He turned his head to meet Mr Stark’s gaze.

“Mr Stark, please, - I don’t – I can’t, please…”

He didn’t know what the man could see in his expression, or whether his mentor could even make sense of his babbling but in the next second he saw resolve firm in his mentor’s eyes.

“Peter’s staying with me.”

Muscles that had been tensing relaxed sharply and he went willingly as he was pulled gently into his mentor’s side. He half turned, hiding his face in Tony’s shoulder as he greedily soaked up the comfort he was being offered.

Part of him knew that he should protest. Mr Stark had already done so much for him, he didn’t need to add looking after him whilst Aunt May was in hospital, but that voice was drowned out. Drowned out by the parts of him that craved the comfort, the familiarity, the safety.

It was a child’s wish and he knew it, but at that moment, he wanted to be saved. To believe this was a bad dream, and that the monsters under the bed could be vanquished with a nightlight and a blanket. To know with all the certainty of a nine-year-old that superheroes could fix everything.

He knew better now. He knew that heroes couldn’t fix everything. Iron Man couldn’t fix this with a repulsor blast. Spiderman couldn’t web his way out of this.

He was falling, but he knew one thing. If he was falling Mr Stark would catch him. And he trusted Mr Stark.

Dr Swift scrutinised them for a moment, apparently coming to a satisfactory conclusion because she nodded sharply.

Her tone softened then, “I meant it when I said we are optimistic Peter. Your Aunt has a good chance of recovery.”

It wasn’t until they were out of the hospital and the car was slipping quietly through halogen lit streets that he realised he was crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those who have read this so far.
> 
> I'm afraid I'm not an actual doctor, so my information about sepsis may not be entirely correct - however it is one of the leading causes of death worldwide - estimates range from 6 million - 11 million people die from sepsis each year (only heart disease kills a similar number of people). Any infection can develop into sepsis, and if not caught early, sepsis rapidly becomes deadly.
> 
> I hope you are all doing okay and a massive thank you for the kudos and bookmarks!


	3. Batten down the hatches

Tony had never seen the kid so quiet.

Peter had hardly said anything in the hospital, the teen had seemed to scarcely be aware of his surroundings, only coming back to himself in the ICU ward.

Tony had listened to the doctor as she explained what was happening to the kid’s Aunt, but he’d filed most of the information away, keeping most of his attention locked on the kid at his side. Peter had grown progressively tenser the longer they had spent there, and it made every one of Tony’s protective instincts scream.

His kid was hurting and all he could do was keep a hand on the teen’s shoulder and hope that Peter drew at least a little comfort from his presence. This wasn’t a problem he could throw money at, or build something to fix it. This time the enemy wasn’t something Iron Man could fight.

And then his kid had turned to him. Brown eyes wide, tears steadily flowing down his cheeks, a mixed expression of helplessness and panic on his face. In that moment Peter had never looked so heartbreakingly young, or so terrifyingly vulnerable.

He hadn’t even needed to think about it. Peter needed somewhere to stay, and that was one thing in this godawful mess he could fix.

The way Peter had all but melted into his side afterwards just confirmed he had made the right decision.

He might not know the first thing about looking after a teenager, hell, with his father he was the last person on Earth you would ask to take care of a child. But Peter needed him. The kid had turned to him, trusted him, asked for him, and for this kid, his kid, Tony would learn.

He couldn’t replace the woman sedated on the ICU bed, but god willing he wouldn’t have to, and in the meantime, he would do his damnedest to ensure Peter was alright.

Gently he led the quietly sobbing teen back out to the car, murmuring an almost silent stream of reassurances. He wasn’t sure if the kid could even hear him, but it kept his attention focussed on Peter, and away from the old anxieties and insecurities battling in his skull.

Peter stayed glued to his side, walking through the hospital and climbing into the car so mechanically that Tony could tell he was acting almost entirely on autopilot. If he hadn’t been so worried about Peter, Tony would have marvelled at the amount of trust the kid was showing in him.

The drive back to the Tower was quiet. Peter didn’t say anything, simply hunching into his seat and staring unseeingly out of the window as the broken reflections of the glowing neon lights glittered in his tears.

It wasn’t until they were in the elevator, heading back up to the penthouse that the silence was finally broken.

“S-sorry Mr Stark,” Peter murmured guiltily, scuffing his feet against the floor, “I didn’t mean to bother you, you don’t have to look after me tonight.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. Given he was currently supporting a significant fraction of the kid’s weight the statement seemed to be rather incongruous, however he offered a reassurance nevertheless.

“You’re not a bother kid.” As the teen’s hands continued to twitch nervously he added, “I’m Tony Stark, known for being impossible to control. If I don’t want to do something, I don’t do it.”

Normally that comment would have won him a quick smile and possibly a jab about Pepper, but Tony counted it as a victory when the boy’s hands stilled and the corner of the kid’s lips twitched slightly.

“FRI, what’s the time?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice echoed softly from the speakers, “It is 00:34 hours Boss.”

Still early in the evening for him then, but a quick glance at Peter confirmed his suspicions. The kid was utterly exhausted, the combination of fear, stress, guilt and panic draining every last dreg of energy.

First priority then – get the exhausted spider-teen into bed, hopefully sleeping (though that might be optimistic) and then he could figure out what the hell he was going to do next.

It took surprisingly little coaxing to get Peter set up in a guest bedroom, clad in one of Tony’s old Metallica t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. The kid was being alarmingly compliant, and Tony was abruptly reminded of Peter’s first visits to his workshop, when the poor kid had been so worried about breaking something, he’d done anything Tony had asked.

He wished it was something as simple as nerves that was making his kid so quiet now.

He hovered awkwardly at the door for a moment after Peter had clambered into bed. What did you say to a kid in this situation?

“Ask F.R.I.D.A.Y if you need anything,” he finally managed, “I’ll be down in the lab. I’ll wake you if the hospital call.”

Was there anything else he should say? What could he say to the teen that wouldn’t immediately sound patronising?

The pause dragged on for a few too many seconds before he eventually found some words.

“I’m here if you need me buddy. Goodnight Pete.”

He waited until he heard Peter’s quiet “Goodnight Mr Stark,” before he turned and headed back down to the lab. There was no way he was going to be sleeping tonight. Not with the memories of his kid’s panicked breathing, and haunted, lost expression still at the forefront of his mind.

“Let me know if anything happens to him FRI.”

The familiar surroundings of his workshop were soothing, and for a moment Tony let himself slump in front of his workbench. Peter was safe in bed. His Aunt was alive and was likely to remain so until morning. He no longer had to keep himself together so that he didn’t frighten Peter further.

What the hell had he gotten himself into? He didn’t have the first idea what to do with a teenager.

Okay, mentoring had been going a lot better after the Ferry Incident. And yes they’d been getting steadily closer over the intervening months, and maybe, if he was being honest with himself, he could admit that he thought of the kid as his. But he’d always been able to hand the kid back to his Aunt, and now he was responsible for a child for several days at least.

Because Peter needed him. And Tony would always come when Peter needed him.

Concern beat a harsh tattoo against his ribcage, and he felt his heart clench as Peter’s pleading, broken face swum past his vision again. Physically the kid was fine, emotionally he was a wreck, and all Tony could do was desperately try to hold the pieces together.

He hated feeling helpless.

He hated being unable to protect the people that mattered.

His hands were shaking, and he let his feet carry him in random patterns around the room as he paced. He was a mechanic, an engineer. He built things, he fixed things. He needed to be doing something.

Responsibility. That was the place to start.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, send a message to my lawyers. Get them to sort out any paperwork necessary to ensure Peter can stay here while his Aunt’s in hospital.”

Next on the list, Pepper. She was currently in Tokyo, in discussions about a merger, and wouldn’t be back for a week. She’d be in a meeting at the moment, but;

“Send Pep a message too FRI. She doesn’t like surprises.”

That was the paperwork dealt with.

Now what? Oh yeah, figuring out what on earth he was doing so he could stop freaking out and finally bring his heart back under control.

For the next few days? Weeks? Months? - That was something else he didn’t know; what was the prognosis with sepsis? - He was responsible for Peter. It wouldn’t be enough to mentor the kid, he’d need to be more, well, _parental_.

Guiltily he shoved aside the part of his heart that relished the idea. Yes, he wanted to spend more time with his kid but not like this. Not because Peter was frightened, lost and in pain as his world crashed around his ears.

Forcibly Tony moved his thoughts back to the problem at hand. His father hadn’t exactly been a paragon of good parenting, so if he did the exact opposite of what Howard would have done that was probably a good starting place. And he was a genius – if he could learn thermonuclear astrophysics in a night, how hard could it be to learn how to look after a single teenager?

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, do me a favour and find the best papers on teenage psychology, looking after teenagers, and sepsis and septic shock will you?”

He had reading to do, and if it distracted him from the worry that had been lodged in his throat, let him cling to the comforting illusion that there was something he could do, something he could _fix,_ well: so much the better.

* * *

Peter woke with a scream.

He tore off the covers, stumbling towards the bathroom. Blood was clinging to his hands, thick and sticky and he had to get it off.

He scrubbed frantically, the water almost too hot to bear, but it _wasn’t coming off._

“Peter? Kid, are you alright?” They sounded worried.

He blinked owlishly as light suddenly burst across his vision, his eyes taking time to adjust the brightness.

In the basin clear water dripped from his fingertips. His hands were rubbed red and raw, but they were clean.

“There’s no blood,” he said blankly. His mind was still working sluggishly, caught between sleep and full consciousness.

“That’s right kid, there isn’t any blood.” Tony’s voice was soft and gentle, then slightly sharper, “F.R.I.D.A.Y, what happened?”

“I believe Mr Parker experienced a nightmare Boss. He seems to be in distress.”

Peter didn’t think he was meant to have heard Tony’s muttered, “I can see that,” because in the next moment his mentor turned his attention back to Peter, a calloused hand reaching out to guide the teen back to his room.

“C’mon kid, let’s get you back to bed, you must be cold standing there hmm?”

The tiles were cold beneath his feet, and whilst Peter was waking up, his brain hadn’t fully rebooted yet, and he would always blame lingering disorientation and terror from the nightmare for what he did next.

Instead of letting Mr Stark send him back to bed he turned towards his mentor, burying his face in the man’s shoulder, fingers latching onto Tony’s t-shirt.

He froze a heartbeat later, suddenly wide awake. He was clinging to Tony like a toddler. Surely he’d just ruined everything? Mr Stark had been kind enough to give him somewhere to stay and here was Peter acting like a needy child.

Before he could start to pull away, letting the stuttering mess of apologies loose from his chest he felt Mr Stark’s arms come up to encircle him, holding him tightly in place.

“That’s a no to bed then kiddo?” Mr Stark’s voice was warm, and try as he might, Peter couldn’t hear any anger in it, just concern. “That must have been one hell of a nightmare. What’d you say we move this to the couch?”

Peter managed to nod in reply. The embarrassment and shame were quickly being buried beneath a blanket of comfort and safety. Tony gave good hugs, he felt protected, safe, cherished. It reminded him of Uncle Ben's hugs.

Soon he was deposited onto the couch and he bit back the whine that threatened to escape as Tony gently released him, before stepping away, heading for a cabinet.

He’d already had a hug, and Mr Stark didn’t do hugs. He was fifteen, nearly sixteen, and he shouldn’t be so worked up over a stupid _nightmare._ He was too old to need comfort from an adult, a parent. He shouldn’t want to be protected and held, even if all he could see when he closed his eyes were his Aunt and Uncle’s dead bodies, even if he could still feel the blood covering his hands.

A warm blanket was draped over him, and then Tony was sitting beside him, raising his arm in a silent invitation. Peter gratefully burrowed back into the older man’s side, a sigh of relief escaping.

“There we go kiddo,” Tony’s words were feather soft, his voice barely coming above a murmur, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Wordlessly Peter shook his head. Grief and fear were still too heavy on his tongue, he’d choke on them if he tried to speak. And this nightmare would not be banished by speaking it into the light, not with May in hospital, not when there was a very real possibility she would die and that the nightmare would be his reality.

“Okay then,” Tony’s voice still hadn’t lost any of its previous warmth or softness, “That’s alright Pete. We can stay right here.”

Calloused fingers came up to rest on the back of his head before starting to thread soothingly through his hair, and a strong arm was wrapped around his back.

The steady thump of Tony’s heartbeat was strangely lulling and as the adrenalin faded Peter felt exhaustion creep back, heaviness settling in his limbs and fog seeping through his thoughts. Nothing could harm him here. He was cradled, protected and shielded from the outside world.

He fell asleep to the sound of Tony’s heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So basically, this chapter and the next are both opportunities for me to enjoy writing somewhat plot related fluff, and to indulge my need for some sleepy cuddles (I'm still in denial about Endgame....). I hope you've all enjoyed it.
> 
> For anyone who's curious - by papers - Tony means scientific papers/journal articles of which I have read far far far too many when trying to research sepsis and septic shock for this fic! If anyone actually wants references I'm happy to give you them - just let me know.
> 
> Again a massive thanks to everyone who has left kudos, bookmarked this, commented or subscribed. I hope you all have as good an Easter (or equivalent holiday) as possible given the circumstances!


	4. Holding Fast

Peter woke slowly.

It took him a moment to realise something was wrong. It was too quiet. He couldn’t hear the traffic in the street below, or the crackle of Mrs Johnson’s radio, or the distinctive splutter of the AC unit Mr Brown had never quite gotten ‘round to fixing.

The second thing he realised was that he wasn’t in his own bed. The texture was far too smooth and the blanket covering him was too soft. Experimentally he cracked open one eye and was met by a familiar ceiling.

Tony’s penthouse, Stark Tower. He was lying on the couch. Why was he sleeping in Stark Tower?

A thought drifted through his brain, just out of reach. He was forgetting something, something important.

Memory of the night before abruptly returned and Peter sat up sharply.

Aunt May. The hospital. Septic Shock. Coming back to the Tower. Nightmare. Falling asleep on Mr Stark.

At the last memory he felt his cheeks redden. He’d fallen asleep curled up against his mentor as if he were five, not fifteen. He ruthlessly silenced the part of his heart that was disappointed that he’d woken alone. It would be far more embarrassing if Mr Stark had still been here.

However, any lingering mortification was quickly swept away by more pressing problems. May was in hospital, and he’d been too shocked last night to ask even a fraction of the questions he needed to. He didn’t even know when he could visit her.

He needed to see her, needed to see for himself that she was still alive. That she wasn’t dead. Fingers scrabbled for his pocket, searching for his phone. He needed to confirm that the hospital hadn’t called. His fingers met empty air. Peter looked down, confused, and he saw the charcoal black of a pair of sweatpants that he knew he didn’t own.

His blush returned, the faint scent of motor oil clinging to the fabric reminding him of exactly who’s clothing he was currently wearing, but he didn’t spare another thought to that realisation. He now knew exactly where his phone was so he slid of the couch, almost breaking into a run as he headed for the guest room.

He was so focussed on getting to his phone it wasn’t until his senses screamed a warning at him that he looked up to find himself about to collide into Mr Stark. Only his enhanced reflexes prevented them from ending up on the floor.

“Woah, kid! Slow down!”

“Sorry Mr Stark!” Peter called back, but he didn’t slow his pace, darting past the man into the room he’d been given last night – and yes, there – he scooped up the phone, fingers fumbling with the lock screen:

Thirteen texts from Ned, one from MJ and nothing else.

Frantic energy drained away. No news was good news.

A breath Peter hadn’t realised he had been holding huffed out from between pale lips. The hospital hadn’t called, that meant May was still alive, still stable.

“Breakfast kid?”

Peter jumped, spinning round to face his mentor, catching himself on the bed as he stumbled. Tony held up one hand placatingly, almost as if he was apologising for startling the teen.

“Are pancakes acceptable food for hungry spiderlings?” The question was light, and the teasing cadence of the words familiar, but the worry was obvious in his mentor’s eyes.

It was all wrong. May wasn’t supposed to be in hospital. He wasn’t meant to be standing in the penthouse in Stark Tower, wearing his mentor’s clothing, having stayed the night because he was a _child_ and children couldn’t be left alone when their only guardian is fighting for their life. And that was something else he had to worry about, because he couldn’t expect Mr Stark to let him stay another night.

His summer vacation wasn’t supposed to start like this. He wasn’t supposed to be worrying that he was going to lose another parent. He wasn’t supposed to be worrying about where he was going to sleep tonight, or where he was going to get food. Nothing about this was right.

But Tony’s gentle teasing. That was something he knew, that was something he understood and Peter latched onto it.

“That depends Mr Stark.” He internally winced at the unsteadiness of his own voice. The way Tony subtly straightened, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening revealed that his mentor had heard it too, but the man played along.

“Oh?”

“Will the pancakes come with syrup?”

“What do you take me for? Pancakes without syrup? Under _my_ roof?” The faux indignation that coated the words wasn’t able to mask the concern underneath, and Peter’s retort got tangled in his throat.

He wasn’t alright. He couldn’t be alright, not now, not until May was better. Nothing here was _normal,_ and he couldn’t pretend it was. He wanted to be at home, he wanted to wake up to the smell of slightly burnt toast and May’s perfume.

“I just want everything to be _normal_.” To his horror, his voice cracked on the last word, and he felt the tell-tale sting of tears building up in his eyes.

Mr Stark was at Peter’s side in four quick steps.

“I know kiddo.” Warm hands grasped his shoulders, comforting, grounding. “God, I know.”

It was a quiet exhale, and there was something dark and painful that Peter had never heard in his mentor’s voice before. He wasn’t sure if Mr Stark was talking to him anymore.

The first tear slipped out and a second later he was pulled into a firm embrace. Peter let the tears fall, soaking in the feeling of being safe and protected. Eventually his tears slowed and stopped, and he sucked in a deep breath, raising his head to met his mentor’s gaze. There was pain there, worry too, but Peter could clearly see affection threaded through every line of Tony’s face.

It was enough to prompt Peter’s lips to quirk upwards in response. It was a small smile, still too brittle and thin but it was real, and a heartbeat later Tony smiled back, a fond, warm smile Peter had never seen on his face before.

Giving Peter’s shoulders one final squeeze, Tony straightened, carding one hand through the teen’s hair before releasing him.

“C’mon kid. Shower, then breakfast. I’ll leave some clothes on the bed for you. We’ll sort everything else out later.”

* * *

Tony took a moment to compose himself as he stepped into the kitchen.

The parenting advice FRIDAY had found for him had been a mess of contradictions, platitudes and bad hallmark quotes. The books on teenage psychology and helping children cope with traumatic events had been better, but still, most of the studies made such an appalling mess of their statistics that he couldn’t quite fathom how many of them had been published, let alone in supposedly reputable scientific journals.

Still, there had been a few common themes, the importance of nutrition and sleep cycles, the importance of verbal and physical reassurance and comfort, and the value of open and honest communication.

In other words, feed the kid, ensure he slept and do the exact opposite of everything Howard had ever done.

Which was what he’d known _before_ slogging through numerous poorly written studies.

The information on sepsis had been much more comprehensive and Tony had put together an information pack for the kid. He’d taken one look at the pamphlet the hospital had provided before throwing it aside in disgust. He was sure it would be enough for the idiots that comprised most of the population, but Tony knew his kid would want far more detail and vague descriptions with no real data would just drive him up the wall.

Tony shook away the remnants of his irritation, taking a large mouthful of coffee. He’d surprised himself by actually managing to sleep last night, the warm, heavy, weight of his kid curled trustingly against his side proving to be an excellent antidote to his insomnia. However, he’d only managed a few hours before the combination of the weight of a sleeping kid, and the awkward position he had ended up on the couch had prompted his back to make its complaints known. Loudly.

But still, regardless of his three-hour nap, coffee was a necessity if he wanted to be fully functional today, and not being functional wasn’t an option.

As he rummaged through the cupboards in search of ingredients, he mentally reviewed the plan he’d made before Peter had awoken this morning.

Visiting hours in the ICU started at 12:30, so they had time to stop by Peter’s apartment before they made their way over to the hospital. Given the diagnosis of septic shock, the Aunt was likely to be in ICU for at least a week, quite possibly two, and that would be followed by time on the general wards before she could be released. That meant that the kid was likely to be staying for around a month and he was sure the teen would appreciate having some of his own things.

Not that he hadn’t already ordered a whole selection of things regardless. If Peter was going to be staying for a month, Tony wasn’t going to let him sleep in a _guest_ room. He’d already had plans to make a room for the kid anyway, this was just speeding things up.

As if on cue, Peter chose that moment to arrive in the kitchen and Tony bit back a smile he knew the kid wouldn’t appreciate as a fierce wave of fondness rose in his chest.

The only things of his he’d thought would remotely fit the teenager were some of the few clothes he’d kept from his MIT days. Peter, hair still damp and tousled from the shower, and wearing his old MIT hoodie, bore a striking resemblance to how Tony had looked in the few decent photographs Rhodey had saved from those years.

The likeness was so strong that for a moment Tony’s breath caught in his throat.

_That’s my son._

The ache in his chest grew, a bright sharp feeling he didn’t dare name. Reality crashed in a second later, and he forcibly smothered the thought, guilt surging through him. Peter wasn’t his, the teen was only here because the kid’s Aunt, his _actual_ family was in hospital. Tony had no business being so damn selfish as to try and appropriate this kind, good, brilliant child as his own. Peter wasn’t his, Peter would never be his. Tony was just a poor substitute, filling in until the Aunt was back on her feet. Peter wasn’t his.

But his mind couldn’t fully supress the treacherous whisper that rose up from his heart.

_God, I wish he was._

A sharp sizzle from the frying pan brought Tony’s attention back to the present and he quickly returned most of his attention to the cooking before everything could burn.

“Grab a seat Pete, the pancakes will be ready in a minute.”

The teen just nodded, slipping into his normal space at the table with a quiet thanks.

They ate quietly. Tony itched to fill the silence with their normal quips and banter but he could clearly remember the way Peter had almost crumpled when he’d tried it earlier. At least the frightening blankness from the previous evening had gone. Peter was aware of his surroundings, responding to direct questions and his movements lacked the mechanical quality that indicated he was acting on autopilot. Given what was going on, Tony couldn’t exactly fault the kid for being withdrawn.

All too quickly the last of the pancakes were finished, and Tony noted approvingly that Peter had eaten a reasonable amount considering his metabolism.

“Okay kid,” Tony forced his tone into something that could just about pass as relaxed and normal, “The hospital won’t let us back in until 12:30, so the first stop is your apartment, and then we’ll go and see your Aunt.”

“My apartment?” Peter looked utterly perplexed.

“Well spiderlings need clothes, shoes and other teenage stuff?” Tony replied, feeling as confused as Peter looked. “You’re welcome to raid my wardrobe kid - the Tony Stark look suits you - but I thought it’d make your stay here more comfortable if you had your own things?”

“Stay here?” Peter echoed; confusion still etched on his face.

Worried now, Tony shifted so he was facing the teen.

“Of course Pete. I offered last night. You’re welcome here for as long as you need.”

Peter’s eyes widened suddenly as realisation dawned,

“No, no, that’s alright Mr Stark, you don’t have to give me somewhere to stay, last night was more than enough, I can find someone else to stay with, or hide out in my apartment. I don’t want to be a bother, you’ve already done plenty, you don’t need to do anything more, I’m sorry I’ve probably messed up all your weekend plans-”

Tony held up a hand and the boy’s mouth snapped shut instantly,

“Firstly, no apologies. You’re not a bother, and you’ve not messed anything up.” He raised an eyebrow when it looked like the kid was about to say something, and Peter wisely swallowed whatever protest he’d been about to make, “Secondly, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to leave a kid to fend for themselves for several weeks, so you aren’t going to be hiding out in your apartment.”

Peter’s attention was firmly riveted on his face as he continued, his voice softening, “Now if there is someone else you’d rather stay with, that’s alright,” He hoped he’d managed to conceal his distaste for that idea, not that he’d blame the kid if there was. Sure, Peter had asked for him last night, but in the cold light of morning Tony wouldn’t be surprised if the teen changed his mind. After all it was an awful idea to make him responsible for a child.

“But you are welcome here kiddo. I don’t make offers I don’t mean.”

There was a long pause, and Tony watched the emotions play across his kid’s face. Shame, guilt, longing and hope chased each other through Peter’s eyes until the teen finally spoke.

“But what if May’s in the hospital for more than a few days?”

Tony’s answer was immediate and firm, “You can stay here for as long as you need Pete. I don’t care if that’s measured in days, weeks, months, heck even years.”

He paused then, debating about whether to continue before deciding that, unless he wanted to have this conversation again in two days’ time, he needed to make everything clear now.

“And Pete, with a diagnosis of septic shock it probably will be several weeks before May is out of hospital.”

He watched that knowledge sink in, and waited as patiently as he could as the teen thought. Tony could almost see the gears turning in Peter’s head, could see the battle between his insecurities and desires in the way the boy twisted his fingers and worried at his bottom lip. Then finally, his kid spoke,

“Can I stay here please Mr Stark? I know it’s a lot to ask but I promise I won’t be a bother, and I’ll find some way to repay you.”

“Of course, kid – but I don’t want to hear anything more about _repayment._ ” His expression twisted in revulsion at the notion, “There is nothing you need to repay me for, capisce?”

He gentled his voice then, reaching out across the table to catch Peter’s fidgeting hands in his own, waiting until the teen’s eyes met his own.

“Kiddo, I _want_ to help you. Will you let me?”

Peter’s reply took a second to come, but when it did, the boy’s voice was firm and sure.

“Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the update!
> 
> Firstly, thank you to everyone who has commented, left kudos, bookmarked this or subscribed - and thank you to everyone who has read this, I hope you are enjoying it.
> 
> Apologies if any of you have written any academic papers on teenage psychology, I know that there are some very good papers out there but having had to wade through a lot of papers on the topic as a post-grad it became a game of spot the miss-applied statistic and poorly chosen sample far too often!
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	5. Storm Surges

Peter swallowed hard as he looked around his room. It hadn’t taken long to pack his clothing, shoes and toiletries – that was quick, easy, normal. It was no different to going on a long visit to Ned’s or a long school trip.

But this wasn’t a normal situation. He probably wouldn’t be back here for three weeks, and it could easily be double that, or….. He refused to think of the last possibility. May _was_ going to survive. He was going to be back home by the end of the summer.

Mr Stark had suggested that he packed other things as well, books he liked, things to decorate his room in the Tower, anything else he’d miss. Peter knew it was a good idea, he could see the logic behind it, knew that he’d probably appreciate it tomorrow, or later next week, but here, now he didn’t want to.

Packing up the rest of his things felt final. It meant admitting that May was sick, really sick. Sick enough that he had to stay somewhere else, possibly for over a month. Sick enough that he might have to face losing her too.

A sharp rap on his door broke him out of his thoughts. Peter turned as his mentor pushed the door open, half stepping into the room. Piercing brown eyes surveyed him, before quickly scanning the room. It was a penetrating, assessing gaze and Peter was halfway convinced that the man could see right through him, peeling away the layers until he saw Peter’s very soul.

He’d seen Mr Stark’s eyes go angry once, when that penetrating gaze had swept over him, assessing and finding him lacking. That had lost him the suit. But there was no anger today, not even impatience. Instead, his mentor’s eyes were kind, worry and empathy flickering in their depths.

“Need a hand kid?”

Peter blew out the breath he’d been holding.

“No,” he replied slowly, “Just company?” His voice rose at the end, turning the statement into a question. In a voice that was barely audible he added, “I don’t want to do this alone.”

Tony just nodded, making no indication he’d heard the last addition.

“Sure Pete.” Dark eyes scanned the teen’s bedroom once more, before he gestured at the desk chair “Can you promise me that thing won’t collapse if I try to sit on it?”

“It’s survived me dropping from the ceiling,” Peter shrugged.

“For some reason that doesn’t fill me with confidence Underoos.” Despite his words Tony manoeuvred past the half full suitcase, settling down at Peter’s desk.

Simply having his mentor there was enough to settle Peter. Tony didn’t say much as the teen continued to pack, mostly flicking through holographic designs, but always looking up to reply if Peter said something.

Soon the case was packed but as Peter walked through the living room, checking to see if there was anything he’d forgotten a photograph caught his eye. He paused, indecisive. It was one of the last photographs that had been taken before Uncle Ben had died, and it was the last that showed them together as a family.

“Kid?” Mr Stark came back through the door, brow furrowing at the teenager who was standing stock still in the middle of the room. His mentor’s gaze followed Peter’s until it came to rest on the photograph, and understanding flashed across his face.

“You know, there’s plenty of space in the car. We can definitely fit a few more photographs in.”

Mr Stark paused for a second before he drew in a deep breath and added,

“Having reminders of the good times can help.”

When they left the apartment, the photograph was safely inside the suitcase.

The journey between the apartment and the hospital seemed to stretch. Peter knew it was only a half hour journey but he couldn’t stop himself from fidgeting, a potent cocktail of anticipation and fear leaving him all but bursting with the need to do something, anything.

In a last-ditch attempt to distract himself he forced his attention back to the StarkPad in his hands, he’d already read through it twice, but he read it again, letting the facts and figures take the edge off his anxiety.

Mr Stark had been almost diffident when he’d handed it over to Peter, mentioning that it was just some information on sepsis that he thought Peter would appreciate. It was exactly what he needed. Data was solid, was _safe._ It was something he could work through, process and make predictions from. It let him prepare himself, and gave him an anchor he could cling to, something he could understand.

Tony had known that. Known that this was something Peter would need, and then spent time and effort to make it for him. Not for the first time that day, Peter felt a surge of gratitude and affection rush through him, though it was still overlaid with wonder.

He still couldn’t quite believe how kind and generous his mentor had been. He knew Mr Stark worried about him, the numerous protocols in his suit were testament to that, and over the last months he’d learnt that his mentor cared for Peter Parker too. That was evident in the evenings in the lab, in the banter, and the occasional hair ruffle. He hadn’t dared to hope for more than that, hadn’t dared to dream that Mr Stark would ever be willing to be more than a mentor to him.

But he’d held Peter as he cried, comforted him after a nightmare, and even let Peter fall asleep on him afterwards. Then, this morning, he hadn’t been angry or irritated, but so very gentle, and for the first time Peter had clearly seen fondness etched into every line of Mr Stark’s face. And then he’d offered to let the teen stay, no conditions, for as long as Peter needed, knowing it would likely be for weeks and waved off any ideas of repayment.

Those weren’t the actions of a mentor, his bruised and battered heart whispered, they were the actions of a parent, a _father._

“Pete? We’re here kiddo,”

Kiddo was new too. Mr Stark had always used nicknames: kid, spiderling, underoos, Pete, but not kiddo. The name felt different somehow, more affectionate. Peter pushed that thought aside, locking it in his heart with all the other pieces of the puzzle. It was a puzzle that could be completed later.

May was the priority now.

* * *

The ICU didn’t look different in the daylight.

Florescent lights still reflected harshly off too white walls and the mechanical whirr of ventilators accompanied the steady beeping of heart monitors in a painful mockery of music.

However, unlike the previous night, there was a lot more life in the ward. Nurses in blue scrubs hurried back and forth, adjusting IV lines, checking monitors, administering medication. Chairs which had been empty were occupied, family members snatching brief moments with their loved ones.

Even the patients appeared more lifelike. Their skin was still waxy and ashen but many lacked the artificial stillness of the deeply sedated. Now half lidded eyes lazily tracked movement and blanket covered limbs twitched, in a mixture of pain and reflex.

Peter threaded his way through the ward, the location of May’s bed vivid in his memory. Tony following half a step behind. Despite the man’s celebrity status, few people seemed to recognise him, perhaps too focused on their own grief and fear, or perhaps it was simply the incongruity of seeing Tony Stark in an ICU ward that convinced people that they must be mistaken. Regardless, Peter was thankful for it. He didn’t think he’d be able to cope with the stares his mentor normally attracted when out in public.

Peter felt his heart climb into his throat as he reached May’s bedside, his palms damp in fear and anticipation. Raising his eyes to look at the woman on the bed he felt his heat unclench and a weight lifted from his shoulders as familiar brown eyes met his.

“Hey May,” his voice cracked on the words and a tentative smile hovered on his lips.

He swallowed as he was met by silence, a slight twitch in her face the only sign his Aunt had heard him.

“It’s me. Peter. I’ve come to visit.” He swallowed again; lips suddenly dry. Her eyes flickered away from him before darting back to him, but now Peter could see what he’d missed in his earlier relief. Though May’s eyes were open they were dazed, confused, without a hint of recognition as she looked at him.

He felt his eyes begin to burn and with every scrap of will he possessed he forced the tears back. Sucking in a deep breath he began to speak again, letting his thoughts tumble out of his mouth in a desperate attempt to distract himself from the terrible blankness in her eyes.

“I’m staying at the Tower, and Mr Stark’s been really great. He made pancakes for breakfast, and I didn’t know he could cook, but they were, like, really good and he had five different types of syrup. I didn’t even know you could get that many different types…”

He let his mouth ramble even as his eyes scanned his Aunt’s face, looking for any flicker of recognition, any sign that she could even hear him. Her face remained blank, every so often her eyes met his and he felt his heart stutter in anticipation, but every time her gaze moved away, eyes roving across the room, seeing but not processing.

Pausing to suck in a deep breath he pasted a false smile back on his lips and continued to talk, desperate to fill the air with more than the sound of beeping monitors. May wasn’t responding, but all the research indicated she could probably hear him, and even if she wasn’t able to process the words, his voice and tone he was speaking with could still be comforting.

He had to keep his voice light. Peter couldn’t let any of the pain or fear leak into his voice because that might upset her, and he needed to be strong for her. So he rambled, talking about anything and everything that came into his mind but as the minutes stretched it became harder and harder to think of things to say, and a harder and harder fight to keep his voice positive.

Peter reached the end of another convoluted anecdote and opened his mouth to launch into another story only to find his mind utterly blank. Frantically he scrambled to think of something, anything, to say and to his horror he felt the tears he had been firmly supressing begin to burn again in his eyes and a sob rose up in his throat.

Then a second voice filled the spaces between the continuous beats of the monitors, a calm, deep voice that Peter knew almost as well as his own. Mr Stark had been sitting quietly as Peter had been talking, a steady presence at the boy’s side, but now he took over the narrative, letting his voice fill in the cracks even as he reached out and covered Peter’s hands with a calloused palm.

Peter latched onto the offered comfort, letting the warmth and weight of Tony’s hand ground him and still his fidgeting fingers. Without ceasing speaking the older man shifted his chair until there were only a few centimetres between his chair and Peter’s.

Peter felt Mr Stark squeeze his hands, and he dragged his eyes up to meet his mentor, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. In the brief time since Mr Stark had started talking, Peter had been able to wrestle some of his pain back down, but a lump still blocked his throat, and despite the small amount he had managed to lock away, most of his emotions still hovered perilously close to the surface.

Warm brown eyes met his, concern written clearly in Tony’s gaze, and the compassion he saw there nearly broke through his resolve. The next thing Peter knew, Mr Stark had released his hands, and the boy only had a split second to feel the loss before that same hand was resting on his shoulder, gently pulling Peter towards his mentor.

Peter didn’t fight it, letting Mr Stark tuck him against his side, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders. Peter sunk into the comfort, letting the half embrace and the familiar cadence of Tony’s voice settle his rolling emotions and giving him the time to regain his composure.

He wasn’t really listening to what Tony was saying, simply letting the words wash over him, reassuring in the familiarity of the voice amidst the symphony of medical equipment, heartbeats and laboured breathing that beat against his ears.

The sound of his own name pulled his attention back to the conversation.

“You don’t have to worry about Peter May,” Mr Stark was saying, “I’ve got him and I’ll keep him safe.” There was a pause of half a beat before he added, “I’ll even make sure he eats his vegetables.” The joke was light but beneath it, his mentor’s voice was serious. “I promise May, I’ll look after our kid so you can focus on getting better.”

The arm around his shoulders tightened for a second before relaxing once more, and then Mr Stark’s gaze was resting on Peter.

“Do you feel up to talking again kiddo?” The question was soft, “If you want to, we can stay here for another hour.”

Peter thought for a minute, not making any move to remove himself from the older man’s side and Tony made no attempt to release him.

“Could we alternate?”

“Of course Pete.”

Hesitantly Peter began to speak again, thankful that his voice didn’t betray any of the pain he had successfully buried. It was a bit easier to keep his tone light-hearted this time, held and protected as he was with Tony’s arm shielding him.

Visiting hours were almost over when a doctor approached them.

“Family of May Parker?”

The summary was short and concise, quickly running through May’s condition. They were still waiting on test results, but so far the interventions were ensuring that her vitals were holding steady and it seemed likely that the initial diagnosis was correct. They were currently monitoring her kidney function as that was showing some alarming signs, indicating the possible onset of kidney failure.

At the end, the doctor drew in a deep breath and addressed them both, “To be frank, we expect to see some level of deterioration over the next few days, most patients in her condition will experience at least one type of organ failure, if not more. However, she is currently responding well to treatment and is stable, which is a good sign.”

Peter drew in a single deep breath. That was good news, and expected news given what he’d read.

“Now then,” the doctor said, “Visiting hours are almost finished, so I will let you say your farewells.” They then turned to Mr Stark, “You will need to stop at reception on your way-out Sir, the admission forms have yet to be completed.”

Peter tensed immediately, admission forms meant worrying about insurance and cover. He knew May had something from her work, but there was always the deductible and co-payments and how much did a long stay in intensive care cost anyway?

The hand on his shoulder tightened, breaking him out of his thoughts, and he brought his eyes up to meet Mr Stark’s. Something of his thoughts must have been written on his face, because his mentor’s next words were gentle and firm.

“Say goodbye to May kiddo,” Tony instructed quietly, “Don’t worry about paperwork, insurance, or any of that crap kid, that’s my job, and I’ll take care of it.”

Peter wanted to protest, because Tony was already doing so much for him, and while he didn’t know how much an ICU stay cost, he knew medical treatment was expensive. But this was May, and he knew they most likely _couldn’t_ afford the all the care she would need, they didn’t have the savings, and with May off work for however long, things were going to be tighter than they already were.

And if Mr Stark paid for her treatment and that meant that his Aunt would recover none of Peter’s insecurities or pride would matter because she would be okay and everything else could be sorted out later. But, whilst he would accept the help, that wasn’t going to stop him from expressing his gratitude.

Turning quickly, he wrapped his arms around the older man, murmuring a heartfelt thank you into Tony’s shoulder. He felt his mentor pat his back, one arm coming up to hold the teen in place.

“You’re welcome Pete.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all - firstly, thanks for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions. They make my day - comments and kudos in particular.
> 
> I'm sorry if there are any inaccuracies in my portrayal of the hospital - I'm not a doctor, and my information about sepsis has come from reading various medical journals, and the hospital details from experiences in a British hospital, so there are almost certainly inaccuracies. Though I did end up on a price comparision website trying to find details of health insurance in New York which was something I never expected to do.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this, and are keeping safe.


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